Boxers
by Pyro Symptoms Unleashed
Summary: Looking back, it was all because of those blasted boxers. Yes, he would blame it on the boxers. That and her stupid knickers. And his sofa. And Blaise. And Colin. And that dratted cat. Oh, and buggering sperm. Yes, it was a conspiracy. Yes, that was it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Guess what? I'm not dead! Yay not being dead! Okay, so here it is. Guess it's Draco-Ginny, but you never know with me. It's not too long, so you won't have to wait long. I hope.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine if it is J.K.Rowling's.

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**Boxers**

**Part One

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**

Draco Malfoy tapped his foot anxiously against the door frame.

"Open up, Blaise, open up…" he muttered, sweat and rainwater mingling and running down his face. Of course he would abandon his life at Malfoy Manor the one day all summer that it rained. Not any old rain, either, but rain that could have sunk Noah's Arc like a tin can in a raging sea.

He wondered, for the thirteenth time as he stood waiting, if this was the right address. Last he had heard, his best friend Blaise Zabini had moved in with some kid from Hogwarts and they were living together. It would be just his luck if they'd moved and sold this place to some deaf-blind hag with knees like weak chips.

Just as another bolt of lightning made his insides squirm and his bladder contract, the door opened. All Draco could tell about the person in the doorway was that it was most definitely not Blaise.

Later, Draco would realize that since Blaise hadn't answered the door, he probably shouldn't have barged in, considering he had no clue who the strange woman in boxers with a toothbrush hanging out the corner of her mouth was.

Apparently, it didn't matter to her, because she didn't try to gouge his eyes out with her toothbrush. She simply closed the door behind him and went back to brushing her teeth in the middle of the hallway as Draco stood shivering wet and about to piss himself. Really, he should have stopped for a potty break before confronting his mother. Pardon, the-cow-formerly-known-as-mother. Now she was Narcissa the Cow. It had a majestic ring to it.

Draco squeezed his left eye shut as water slid into it. He appraised the odd person still brushing her teeth through his right eye. "Who are you?" he asked, teeth chattering a bit, and more than a little miffed at her lack of hospitality even if this wasn't Blaise's apartment. She arched an eyebrow, and Draco wondered if she'd been in Slytherin. Pulling her toothbrush out of her mouth, she waved it at him. "Who'm I? Yer da one knockin' on da door in da middle of da night," she mumbled through a mouth full of foaming toothpaste.

Draco thought she looked like a rabid dog, especially since her red hair was tangled into an indecisive bun on top of her head with stray strands like ears. Or antennae. He stepped back to avoid the drops of paste that slung off her toothbrush as she gestured to the door. "Wha'd you wan?" she muttered, a line of toothpaste trailing down her chin. She rolled her eyes and beckoned for him to follow her into a small kitchen where she spit the peppermint-flavoured goo into the first available place; an open carton of Chinese food. Rinsing out her mouth she turned to him. "What did you want?" she repeated, and her voice sounded slightly better, if a bit gravely.

Shivering (still!), Draco shrugged. "I was looking for a friend of mine who said he lives at this address," he explained. The girl looked at him stupidly, not offering any information and for a moment he considered asking her if she had permanent brain damage. What was she doing brushing her teeth at midnight anyways?

"My friend's name is Blaise Zabini. Do you know him?" he chattered. She nodded, the blob of hair bobbing up and down as she did. "He owns this place," she said simply. Finally, some headway! Draco resisted the urge to throttle her. She still had the toothbrush and he liked his eyes very much the way they were and where they were.

"Well, in that case, do you think I could talk to him?" he asked, wishing she'd just offer him a towel. Or a large, hot, bath. With bubbles. Draco's darkest secret was his fondness for bubble baths.

The woman just stared at him, shoving her thumbs underneath the waist band of her boxers and leaning against the counter in a negligent pose. "I think he's asleep," she said vaguely. "Or else he and Colin are doing something you'd rather not interrupt."

Draco shuddered. He'd gotten used to the fact that Blaise had…better fashion taste…than most men, but Colin? Creevey? As in the creepy little stalker paparazzi-wanna-be with faux-Malfoy blonde hair? Ick. And Blaise was supposed to have good taste…

No need for a warning; Draco would wait. However, his skin was feeling cold and clammy and he really needed to use the loo. "Well, do you think I could get a towel, or use the loo or something? I'm kind of cold."

The woman shook her head. "How do I know you're Blaise's friend? You could just be some hobo off the streets."

Draco was mortified. Him? _HOBO!_ Not with that hair, those robes, and his blue-tinted blood. He reigned in his homicidal feelings until later, when cause of death could be determined not as an explosion of temper, but a tragic and accidental toothbrush down the oesophagus. "I'm not. I told you Blaise's name before you mentioned it, didn't I? Plus, I'm Draco Malfoy. Everyone who went to Hogwarts knows Blaise and I are close."

The girl opened her mouth to say something, most likely 'get out of my kitchen you wet hobo so I can finish brushing my teeth', but at that moment, a rather tall man with rich dark skin strode into the room with a robe wrapped around his waist.

"Draco! What a surprise! When did you get here?" Blaise beamed, rushing over to wrap Draco in a hug. Draco sent an 'I-told-you-so' glare over Blaise's shoulder at the daft little twit who'd given him so much trouble. Her vacant, idiotic expression was gone, however, replaced with a shrewd glare.

Blaise released him, frowning as he held him at arms length. "You're soaking wet, why didn't you dry yourself off?" he looked down at the tail of water and small lake that Draco was standing in. Draco sent a glare at the girl, who slumped down farther against the counter.

Blaise seemed to finally realize she was there. "Oh…" he said, drawing the word out into an all-knowing exclamation, giving the girl a sharp frown, then a beaming smile. The girl smirked back and disappeared. Draco shot Blaise a questioning glance.

Blaise shrugged. "She's Colin's best friend, and she pays the rent on time. You do know who she is, don't you?" he asked. Draco shook his head. Blaise let out a hearty laugh as the girl returned with some heavy towels and a clean shirt and boxers.

"No wonder you're still wet," he chuckled before turning to the girl, who was trying to keep a straight face. "How long did you have him standing there, all cold and wet?" he asked. She grinned and shrugged. Blaise shook his head, more amused than Draco would have liked.

"Ah, well. Draco, I'd like you to meet Ginny Weasley," he grinned as Draco's jaw dropped. "Again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Well blast and damn if you all don't love this story as much as I do. Beware, there will be mush, and I don't just mean the past where Ginny beats Draco into a pulp. Kidding. She really stabs him with an eggplant. I kid again. Oh, and where are all those buggers who wanted me to update The Hogwarts Renaissance? Because I bloody well did about six times, and NOTHING. I don't blame you. It sucks. Majorly. I want it to die. Not like this one, though. I like this one. So here it is. Please review.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine unless it is; there.

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**Boxers**

**Part Two

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**

It was near on two in the morning. Draco knew he should feel guilty about keeping Blaise up so late, but counting the numerous times Blaise had kept him up until dawn sighing and relating his boy troubles, Draco decided he was due a little midnight chat.

Weasley had excused herself after retrieving her toothbrush and apologizing to Blaise, who had been in the mood for Chinese food, but apparently wasn't overly fond of peppermint-toothpaste-flavoured Mongolian beef. Draco had been ecstatic when she shoofed off; his skin was only now starting to properly dry and he'd come embarrassingly close to wetting himself. Bloody bladder.

"Then it's settled," Blaise agreed. "You must stay with us. Honestly, the amount of room we have here is embarrassing. Besides, Ginny has about three rooms to herself and she's starting to get spoiled. I tell you, that girl should have been in Slytherin. Do you know what she did to Pansy Parkinson last year?"

Draco tuned out Blaise as he began a detailed account having to do with a unicycle and fresh deli salami. He was somewhat less than thrilled about having to share living quarters so closely with a Weasley. Hell, he was somewhat less than thrilled about having to share a continent with a Weasley. But he had nowhere else to go since he'd abandoned Malfoy Manor and his scheming mother.

Blaise was lucky; his parents had killed each other. He had all the Zabini money. Narcissa Malfoy had indeed killed Lucius, and then decided to try and do the same to Draco through a long, excruciating process. In short, she'd planned on marrying him off.

There are just some things you don't do, and marrying your son off to Millicent Bulstrode is one of them.

So he'd run off; no Millicent, but no money. In a bizarre turn of events, it seemed he couldn't touch what little fortune he had until he was married. He had a feeling Narcissa had planned that. The cow. Now he was forced to live a real life. A common life.

He spent the rest of the night in the bed Blaise summoned for him, deciding who he hated more; Narcissa or Weasley, coming to the conclusion that they were both evil cows, his mother dressed better, Weasley had better oral hygiene, and that he had the most abominably disastrous luck to have to have lived with both of them.

…………………………………………………………

As the days passed, Draco was elated to learn of Weasley's habit of being in short supply around Blaise's apartment; she was gone for most of the day and hid that sodding face of hers in her bedroom or a tin of food most of the rest of the time. Were he not a Malfoy, and had he not other things to do, he'd have jumped for poncy joy.

As it was, he was still looking for a job.

The subject came up over a dinner one night in the kitchen, when Blaise and Colin stopped rattling their bed, and indeed, most of lower London, with their 'activities', and Ginny had emerged from her rooms in the conjoined spirit of extreme hunger. As much as Draco wished Weasley wasn't a permanent fixture in the place, her presence meant the permanent presence of great quantities of food. It was either keep the place well-stocked or risk losing a precious finger.

Chowing down over chow mein, it was Colin who brought it up. The young ex-Gryffindor was a bit unsettling at times, but completely and disgustingly as infatuated with Blaise as Blaise was with him. Draco tried not to think about them when he ate.

"So, Malfoy, are you still searching the job market?" Colin asked, breaking the silence with what he hoped to be a conversation starter. Draco frowned a bit. "Yes. No luck yet on that account."

He heard a dry chuckle to his left, and already knew it would come from the she-devil perched cross-legged on the counter top like a domestic monkey, but not as well-trained. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Male prostitution not paying as well as it used to?"

Draco shot her a glare, to little affect, as he had to immediately turn his gaze away; she was wearing oversized boxers yet again and he could see her knickers up one leg. It was rather hard not to; they were bright green. He suddenly felt sick, and pushed his plate away.

Damn observant Blaise noticed it all. "Ginny. Pants." It was all he needed to say, and indeed, all he could say through the wad of rice in his mouth.

Ginny glanced down. "What?" she asked through a mouth of noodles, one hand gesturing to Malfoy. "Oh, come on, Blaise. I could dance around the living room in my knickers and it would probably have more effect on you than it would him," she said, nodding her head at Draco. "He's a Malfoy. And while we're civil for your sake, I'm sure he wants to murder me with my toothbrush. The feeling's lovingly mutual."

As if to prove her point, she hitched her boxers up again.

Colin created a distraction by trying not to laugh and accidentally began to choke on an eggroll. In the commotion that ensued, Draco slipped away, definitely having lost his appetite.

………………………………………………..

And so the weeks went by. Draco got a job, waiting tables at some wizarding bar, much to his disgust, where Ginny worked. Blaise had given her a talk and she ended up being grudgingly helpful, telling him that there was a position at the bar, which she most definitely wouldn't have told him had Blaise not threatened to tell her brothers just what kind of men she'd had in her room in the past.

If Ron ever found out she'd slept with Kingsley Shaklebolt, he'd have a brain aneurism.

Draco and Ginny formed a bond that was, if not agreeable, than at least not filled with murderous plots on either side. For the most part. Ginny was seeing the handsome bloke who served drinks behind the bar, and was usually too busy snogging him under the bar at random moments to bother with Draco and figure out how to kill him discreetly.

Draco, for his part, was picked up by a most attractive woman one evening. Thank god they went back to her place; Ginny had taken the plunger-mouthed Michel back to the flat that evening and it was Blaise and Colin's second anniversary. Draco knew the apartment was well-built, but he wasn't sure if it could have withstood all that shagging. Hell, he wasn't sure if London could stand that much shagging. Aside from that, things were going well. Draco had obtained what money he had placed in different businesses for shits and giggles as a kid and managed to make some wise financial moves, aided, surprisingly, by Weasley, who knew more about everything than she did about any one thing.

With galleons to his name, and a woman in good society, he began to enjoy a better-tasting life once more.

And then came the night of the Ministry ball. It was one he was not soon to forget.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Haha! So, you pesky internet troubles and freezing computer, you thought you could keep me from uploading? Ha! I fool you into putting up part three. So there. Here it is. Draco shows some petulance in this chapter. Yay for petulant Draco. Urgh. I have to go to work. Review, please!

**Disclaimer:** Don't have time; not mine if J.K.'s.

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**Boxers**

**Part Three**

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Draco had not exactly been directly invited to attend the Ministry ball. But Elavine, his flavour of the month, was head of one of the departments. He wasn't exactly sure which one; their relationship wasn't based on conversation.

Dressed up in dress robes, his hair slicked back, with a pretty girl on his arm, Draco felt the superiority he had from his Hogwarts days as he strode into the large building centred in muggle London. Outside the place was a small garden, where some hobo had been sleeping in the rosebushes. But inside was another story. One without hobos. All around him were handsome and beautiful people. He nodded at Blaise and Colin, who were fighting to stay away from each other lest they do something 'inappropriate'. There had apparently been some sort of precursor last year attesting to their complete inability to keep their hands to themselves.

Almost ruining the evening was the fact that the guest of honour was the illustrious Harry Pothead, returned from his battles with the deceased Lord Voldemort. Draco would have been displeased anyway, but the fact that the lovely and dim-witted Elavine cawed and ran to ogle Potter did little to heighten Draco's like towards the infamous twit.

Potter was dashing about the place, trying to avoid the Minister and his gaggle of groupie gits simultaneously, and Draco was by himself, drinking the night away and looking impressive.

It was as such that he got to see a most important event during the night. Drinking steadily, he soon had to relieve his bladder and now there was no idiotic red-head with a toothbrush and a mental condition to stop him.

Scurrying off in search of the lavatory, Draco made his way down two hallways before he heard voices. Angry male voices. Slithering forward, the loo out of mind, he came upon a most intriguing scene.

Blaise was facing off with Pothead, the most serious and angry look he'd ever seen on the dark man's normally good-natured face. Colin, arms crossed, was watching from the side, and noticed Draco doing the same. He shook his head and turned back to the confrontation and Draco didn't interrupt.

"You go near her and I swear, you won't get off as easy as you did last time. There will be no Molly Weasley to save you. And I promise you, you'll regret you ever laid eyes on her," Blaise hissed, his fist clenching as if he wanted to punch Potter. Draco knew that feeling well.

Instead he pushed him, and, taking the message, Potter puttered off looking a good deal put-out. Blaise stood for a moment before turning to accompany Colin back to the party. Draco stopped them, interested. "What was that?" he asked, coming up behind them.

Blaise whirled and Colin frowned a little, looking in the direction that Harry had run off in. "Bastard," he whispered. "You won't be interested; it's about Ginny Weasley," he said with a finality that suggested there was no more to the story that Draco should know.

So he didn't press it. Who cared about whatever spats Ginny Weasley and Harry Pothead had?

…………………………………………….

Time seemed to stretch on forever. At the Ministry ball, Draco had met some friend of a friend who was looking for someone to go into business with. Though most of his financial success in the business world had come from Weasley, Draco accepted the man's offer and became a partner in a wizarding newspaper. Within the next few months, their business was soaring and he was able to branch out into his own line of work. Since he was no longer penniless, he moved out of Blaise's apartment into the one above it. It wasn't as big, but it was somewhat better and affordable, since Blaise also happened to own the building and became Draco's landlord.

By another strange and bizarre twist of fate, Weasley became the most qualified person to manage Draco's business. That didn't change the fact that she was a bloody Weasley, so he feigned some excuse not to hire her and pay her valuable coinage, but to instead rely on her help explicitly without paying her one sickle.

He'd never have told anyone, especially her, but without her, he'd have sunk in the first year, if he was lucky. He knew then that Blaise was wrong, that she never could have made it in Slytherin as he always professed. She never asked for any money, or any favours. She tried to hide her dislike for him when they were working together, and she never let her emotions get in the way of helping him with deals.

And somehow, he formed a ridiculous kind of grudging respect for her. She was well-balanced. For a woman. Because everyone knew women were unbalanced, crazy, unrealistic people. And practical? Not in a million years. But Weasley wasn't that bad. For one, there was none of that pretend modesty. Well, with her there wasn't much modesty any way. Then there was the fact that her fashion sense was limited to boxers and t-shirts. T-shirts she stole from Draco on more than one account. Then there were her carnivorous eating habits, the fifteen-minute showers, the lack of any cosmetics, the fact that she still didn't own her own brush, the horrendously few shoes she owned (even Draco had more shoes than she did), the sometimes crude, but surprisingly good sense of humour, and of course, the fact that she had what Colin called 'female charms' and didn't let them get to her head. Her shrewd business sense wasn't included because she didn't care about money or status the way men did, and she was too compassionate to be ruthless and successful.

Blaise and Colin were still hopelessly mooning over each other and getting into stupid spats over something or another and then 'making up' noisily for the next two hours, loud enough for Ginny to hear in her farthest rooms with two pillows shoved into her ears.

Which was why, eleven months or so after Draco had left Malfoy Manor, he got a tapping on his front door. Opening the door in, to his everlasting shame, an apron, Draco was a little surprised to find Weasley at his front door. He hadn't called her. Business was good. Why the bugger was she anywhere near him?

Draco was ready to say something, like 'get off my doorstop you deranged hobo so I can go back to playing homemaker' when he realized her hands were over her ears and she had a half-pleading, half-horrified look on her face. "They at it again?" he asked knowingly. She'd taken her hands down and nodded, looking ready to cry, her eye twitching violently. "You want to come in?" Another nod. Draco opened the door wider and allowed her to enter.

She rushed in and made a beeline for his couch. However she may have hated Draco, she loved his couch more than anything. That summer Blaise and Colin had been excessively argumentative, excessively make-up-ative, and excessively vocative, and Ginny had come over readily whenever Draco asked. Partially because of Blaise and Colin's noise, but partially because of Draco's lovely, lovely couch.

She'd once made the mistake of saying she could marry Draco and then sleep on his couch for the rest of her life. Draco had run into the bathroom to vomit and Blaise and Colin had gotten jealous. Of a red, squishy sofa. They'd kidnapped her for the weekend to make her forget about the torrid affair she'd had with Draco's couch.

But she was back. How she loved his couch. Draco arched an eyebrow and smirked as she flopped face-first into his soft, lovely bright red couch, hugging a pillow and burying her face into it.

"You hear that?" her voice was muffled, but he got the message. "No, what?" he asked, perching on the back of the couch. She turned over and faced him, one leg falling off the couch, as apparently she had no bones in her body anymore. "Silence. No moans. No groans. No sounds of sexual intercourse. No 'oh baby's. Silence." She smiled and let her eyes closed. She was snoring in moments.

Draco wasn't sure why he noticed, maybe it was because she was once again wearing neon knickers, but he couldn't help but notice that he could see up her boxers. He shook his head.

No modesty. Whatsoever.

……………………………………………………………

Another year passed. Draco had been dating Clarice Somethingoranother for a good seven months. She was one of the top models for his magazine, and quite possibly the sexiest thing Draco had seen outside a centrefold. She was built like a goddess, always wore the most stunning of designer clothes, gorgeous hair, perfect teeth, smouldering eyes, deep, rich voice, and pretty much a bloody acrobat in bed. She was also as dumb and flat as a tack.

He was thinking about proposing.

But…her body was mostly magically-enhanced, her clothes cost a fortune and were highly impractical, her hair looked pretty, but was brittle, her teeth looked good, but tasted like metal, her eyes were contacts, and her lashes kept coming un-charmed, and her voice switched to a high-pitched whine if she got upset, which she did, frequently, especially in bed where she wailed like banshee.

But still…she _looked_ bloody fantastic.

So he married her. Besides the obvious things; she was a status symbol, she made him look good, it made every other man in the world jealous of him, she had money, money, money coming out the wazoo…besides all that, there was also the fact that she was stupid and did just about whatever he said.

A match made in heaven.

………………………………

Ginny, on the other hand, didn't fare so well. She'd been invited to Draco's wedding (Blaise innocently wondered how the invitation had managed to find its way into her underwear drawer), but she hadn't attended. Draco's business wasn't doing so well without her, but his wife's money meant it didn't matter. With his marriage, he came into all the money his mother had tried to keep from him. He didn't need his business anymore.

Blaise urged him to give the business to Ginny, who'd been fired from her job at the bar after she caught her beau Michel sleeping with one of the waitresses, and had…rearranged…his face for him. Blaise thought it looked better. But she was a Weasley, so Draco kept the business and put her in charge of it for pathetic salary.

And then one day she just vanished. Blaise owled Draco one day to tell him that Ginny's things were gone. Not a word from her except a 'thanks' and pay for the rent left in a note. Nothing to Draco. But she somehow managed the business…from wherever she was. Draco thought of it as an added bonus that he kept the company and never had to see her again.

But then he got lonely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Wow. You guys are going to make me cry. I've never felt happier with responses for a story than I am now. Really. It's just what I needed, getting home from a day at work, sitting down and finding **41** reviews for only three chapters. I almost cried. Not a single flame. So I figured, I'll upload this chapter and see how many flames I get. It's especially long.Yeah, Draco's a bit of a prick in this one, but I absolutely love, love _**LOVE**_ the end of this chapter. Yay. So, let me know what you think now. Oh yeah, NEW CHARACTER! Love him.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine if it belongs to J.K.Rowling.

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**Boxers**

**Part Four

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**

Two years passed. Draco was ready to shoot himself. Clarice had gone and done something ridiculously stupid after they got married; she got pregnant. There hadn't even been the sex to remind Draco why he married her; a question he asked himself twelve times a day as he'd been running off to get tuna and peanut butter and strawberry-flavoured ice cream, or ordering one of the house elves to massage her feet.

It wasn't long, obviously, before he began seeing tarts on the side. Who knew Pansy Parkinson would still be in the game, ten years later? Although, he had to admit, she'd made a more attractive seventeen-year-old slag than a twenty-seven-year-old slag.

Clarice, being the stupid cow she was, had no idea. Every day for nine months, she grew steadily unhappier, however. Draco had hoped mothering would suit her better than pregnancy did. Two years after he'd married her and it was only the fact that his business took him out of the country for great periods at a time that kept him from growing annoyed with her and divorcing her. Then there was the fact that she bore his child and he was cheating on her shamelessly that might not look so good.

His 'business' was merely a ruse to escape her constant whining. In fact, he had no idea how his business was going. He'd left it in the hands of the invisible Weasley and some junior accountant kid related to Clarice. And then Clarice had gotten pregnant and he decided to really take an interest in his business, if just to get away from her more often.

Malfoy Publishing was a relatively large production by the time he started taking interest in it. He was even surprised to see that he had published the number-one wizarding novel of the past three years. Romance novels were easy tripe; Clarice's cousin Jacob had probably slept with the author.

It's what Draco would have done.

He was even more surprised to find that Ginny Weasley was making his business flourish, even though she still hadn't been seen for almost two years. And he was astonished to find that he was angry at her. Of course, she was a Weasley, so anger came naturally towards her, but he'd thought for a while at least, that he could at least tolerate her.

It would appear not.

Clarice went into labour two months early (thank god; one more tongue sandwich with sour kraut and pear slices and he'd have killed her) and gave birth to a baby boy while Draco was out shagging some French piece of work. He had felt a great deal of remorse, but only because he didn't get to be there to revel in what he was told was a very painful thirty-two hour birth.

Needless to say, Clarice formed an instant, almost frenzied hatred for both the father and the child, or as she thereafter referred to them, Satan and His Spawn. Her figure was ruined and who knew how long it would be before men were slobbering over her again. Draco named the kid Mercius and had nothing to do with him for a while. He hired some hulking German ape to nanny the boy and went back to his extramarital affairs and lonely business.

So when Blaise owled him out of the blue and offered to throw Mercius a party for his fifth birthday three years later, Draco accepted.

………………………………………………………..

Blaise sighed.

His owl had returned and Draco and Mercius were to come over early so the Malfoy boy could meet his godfather. Plus it was the weekend of the Ministry ball, which Draco was attending the day after the party. Clarice was off at some Swedish retreat trying to get properly emaciated again.

Blaise and Colin had been living together for nine years now, which Draco told them both was disgustingly and hopelessly romantic. They'd had more spats than Draco had mistresses (which was quite a lot) and yet they still cooed and snuggled like new lovers. Draco wanted to hurl cookies every time he saw them.

When Draco arrived at Blaise's apartment, the very same from seven years before, he found things hadn't changed much. Zabini's hair was long and dreaded, something Colin claimed to be 'deliriously sexy'. It had to be; the photo-happy ex-Gryffindor shoved Blaise into the closet every chance he got.

Both men took an instant liking to Mercius, who was undeniably Malfoy, right down to the cool grey eyes, the superior sneer, the lovely blonde hair, and the secret fondness of bubble baths.

Colin drew Draco aside at one point while Mercius was busy playing 'horsey' with Blaise's dreads. "I thought you might like to know; Ginny's here." It was all he said; the next minute he was off whispering suggestive things to Blaise about wanting to play 'horsey' later. In his first paternal move, Draco clapped his hands over his son's ears. For some reason he couldn't wait to get at the nit-picking little Weasel. Berate her for disappearing. Perhaps he could even dock her pay; make up some story about how hard it was working with an invisible manager. But if she was in the apartment, she didn't come out.

That night they toasted to Mercius's fifth birthday, and the latest novel Draco had published. "What's it called?" Blaise had called, drunk out of his mind. "Understandable Hatred," Draco called back, not too sober himself. "Sounds like your kind of book, Malfoy," Colin hiccupped. "Wouldn't know. Didn't read it," he answered, on his way under the table, where he would remain for most of the rest of the evening until Mercius trod on his face on his way to bed.

Draco didn't remember much of that night. But the next morning he woke up, and somehow knew he was in one of the Weasel's old rooms.

………………………………………….

So Blaise and Colin watched over Mercius as Draco spruced himself up and left for the Ministry ball. Weasley was still missing, and Draco began to wonder how hard Colin had been pulling his leg. He didn't let it bother him. He danced and danced all evening. Pansy Parkinson was there, in an elaborate gown of midnight blue, sweeping down over her aging breasts, which were sagging, despite the ridiculous amount of magic holding them up. She'd beckoned to him and Draco pretended not to notice; must have been the sagging that threw him off because he didn't want to be anywhere near her.

Soon he spotted Potter, who never seemed to miss one of these things. This time, however, the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die-No-Matter-How-Hard-Draco-Wished wasn't as peppy as he had once been. He was slumped in a dark corner, drinking his fifth daiquiri.

The day the saviour of the wizarding world got sloshed on something with a little pink paper umbrella in it was a sad day indeed.

Draco didn't know why, but he made his way over to the git. "What's got you down, Potter? Can't get it up?" he didn't know why he was laughing; he'd sounding wittier in his head. Pothead sunk, if possible, lower into his seat.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

Draco didn't know why, but he smacked him upside his head. "Come on, Potter. Twenty years later and you're still a pathetic git at comebacks? You've got to do better than that, loser-beans." Draco shut himself up. _Loser-beans?_

Potter looked up at him, and Draco was surprised to see no enmity. Just weariness. "Don't you get it, Malfoy?" He shook his dark head in disbelief. "You don't, do you? Twenty years later and you're still an ignorant know-nothing. You're thirty years old and you know nothing about life or happiness. All you know is what's in your stupid little Malfoy-verse. You think you're king, you think you've won? Wait until you wake up one day and realize your mistake. You'll know what I'm talking about. Come find me then. We can reminisce about how we could have been happy. How we could have had it all. How she loved us and we had no idea until it was too late."

Draco had no idea what Potter was blabbering about, but he was decently sure he didn't like it. Making some snarly retreat, he slunk off. His appetite for the party was gone. Suddenly the people looked stupid, all trussed up and hiding under layers and layers. Draco looked down and saw the same layers.

Growling at Potter mentally, he strode outside. The night air was cool and crisp and he felt a relief wash over him, as if cleansing him from whatever had tainted the air inside. He decided to take a stroll. The garden outside was more or less pathetic, but he didn't really care. He'd not taken five steps before he saw a hobo lying beside the rose bushes, just like the last time he'd come.

Shaking his head, he began to walk by.

"Why did you have children?"

He stopped walking, his heart leaping to his throat. He whirled, wand drawn, only to find the hobo wasn't a hobo, but a red-head wearing boxers. She frowned at him and he saw age in her eyes, but not her face. She was still as fresh and gangly as she had been more than five years ago. Her face was clean and he could still see her knickers; purple like some preposterous dinosaur his son kept going on about. 'Barmy' or something of the like. Ergh. Muggles. He was never letting Mercius near Helga's television again. Why he'd hired a half-blood nanny, he had no idea, anyway.

Weasley was still staring at him, and he supposed he should acknowledge her, even if she hadn't acknowledged him in over five years. Not in person. He frowned. "What are you on about? Why shouldn't I have children?" he asked, though it came out in more of a growl. She wasn't questioning his potency, was she?

Ginny returned his frown. "Because you're still one. And because you don't want children," she answered. Draco chose to ignore the first statement. "Oh, and how do you know I don't want children?" he sneered, annoyed that she thought she knew so much about him.

"Because I've just spent an hour with your son and believe me, if he thought he had a father, he'd be jumping for joy. All he has is some German nanny who bullies him and says 'ja' and 'nein' and parents who ignore him and don't say anything."

Draco chose not to respond. She was right. But what did that have to do with why she was asking him these questions?

"Well?" she asked, as if she was actually expecting him to say something. "What do you want me to say, Weasley?" he fumed suddenly. He hated people getting their noses in his business. "Well, out with it, what am I supposed to say? What? That I'm a bad father? That I don't pay attention to my kid? That I never wanted kids? That Mercius is annoying sometimes and that I wish I'd never had him? That I'd never married his cow of a mother? That I'd stayed right there in that little apartment with you and Blaise for the rest of my life?" he ended his tirade with the realization that everything he said was true. He did regret it. All of it.

Weasley was looking at him with something akin to pity on her face. "Yes. That is how you feel. Why has it taken you so long to realize it? You do know that there's more to life than just waiting for supper to be over so you don't have to look at your wife anymore? That there's more to making up business plans so you can go shag someone you'll never know? There's nothing wrong with shagging, but why do it if it doesn't make you happy?"

Draco stiffened. "It makes me happy. I love it. I can't stand my wife and I like to shag." Ginny frowned. "If you do, then why are you out here?"

And he couldn't answer her. Inside were dozens of women he'd slept with and dozens more he could bed within an hour. So why was he out here?

"What happened with you and Potter?" he asked suddenly. Even Weasley seemed surprised. "Harry?" she asked, then scoffed. "Does it matter? I'm asking you about why your life isn't happy, not why mine isn't."

She shouldn't have said that. Draco latched onto it in an instant. "Good grief, you're not still hung up over Harry Potter, are you? God, that's so pathet-" she flew to her feet, her hand flying up on its own, and slapping him mid-sentence. Standing nose-to-nose with him, she stared him down, her body violently still. "Never talk down to me again, Draco. You've done nothing to earn what you are. You don't even have enough sense to realize who you are and what you really want, so don't you ever think for one second that you're better than I am just because your Gringott's account is a bit bigger than mine."

Draco scoffed. "And what have you done to make yourself so bleeding successful in life? Moaned over losing Potter? Been passed from man to man, job to job? Remember, I know how much I pay you, and you're just as poor now as you were when I first met you."

It was Ginny's turn to scoff. She chuckled for a moment before shaking her head, much as Harry had done. That was starting to piss him off; he wasn't four, damnit. He resisted the urge to stomp his foot. She let her head fall back, too tired with him to face him. "You don't get it, do you?" She yanked her head up forcefully. "I liked Harry, he didn't care, I stopped caring, he fell in love with me, asked me to marry him, I said no. You think you're such a success? Where would you be without that money you inherited? You think your business would hold up without me? You idiot, I even wrote the bloody book that's gotten your business so much attention lately. If you'd read it, you and I would have spoken much sooner and you'd probably understand a hell of a lot more than you do now," she breathed heavily.

Draco flapped his mouth. "No you didn't," he finally said stupidly. Ginny scoffed. "Vinegar Sleeway? Come on, tell me that's not the most blatantly obvious pen name you've ever seen?" Draco gave her a blank stare, rearranging the letters in his head. Ginny frowned. "Obviously not."

Draco shook his head. "Why'd you tell Potter 'no'?" Ginny stared at him. "That's the only question you have?" He nodded. "Fine," she shrugged. "I want to be happy. Harry wouldn't have made me happy."

Draco said nothing. "Why are you here?" he finally asked. Ginny sighed a soft, disgusted sigh and stared back at the building. "When I was got out of Hogwarts, this was the first Ministry event I went to. I had on this beautiful dress I'd saved for. I looked beautiful for the first time in my life. And I went, to win Harry, you see. But he didn't come. He'd promised and he didn't come. I waited by this rose bush for hours. I was so sure he was going to propose. Back then I actually wanted him to. He'd been with Hermione." She shrugged, admitting her own ridiculousness. "And every year I just came back. To remind me that happiness isn't always what it seems." She stared at him and a shiver ran down his back. "It's not always what's simplest or even easy."

Draco tried to shake off the feeling of awkwardness she'd passed over him. "So you come back here every year to pity yourself because Potter left you here? That really is pathetic, and if you hit me, I'll hit you back," he warned as her hands clenched. She glared at him. "I stopped coming here five years ago. That night the year that you went, was my last time. Don't you get it? Why I never came to your wedding? Why I vanished, but still worked for you? Why I stopped sitting here every year getting drunk off my arse? I found the answer I'd been looking for. The one you're looking for out here even if you don't know it. I found something that could make me happy, and god knows it wasn't simple or what I was expecting and it sure as hell wouldn't be easy."

Draco suddenly connected the dots. "That was pretty stupid, wasn't it?" he asked. "Falling in love with a Malfoy?"

Ginny scowled. "It's not like I planned it. And I don't love you, especially when you're being a right ferrety little git like you are now. But whatever I felt, you went and got married and I've never felt sorrier for anyone than I do for you. You've wasted half your life being unhappy but too you're proud to admit it. Fine. I guess that's what I'm here for. Just to let you know."

She turned to walk off but he called to her.

"You're an idiot, Weasley. You fell in love with me for some stupid girly little reason and now you're going to go cry because I'm a mean bastard and I don't love you back. Stop chasing happiness; you're never going to get it and it's just going to keep disappointing you. I'm happy, I'm successful, I'm rich, I've got plenty of things to make me the happiest man in the world, and I most certainly don't need some scrawny old carrot who thinks she's some genius philosopher telling me what's wrong with my life when she's the biggest wreck I've ever seen. So go back to Potty; you two deserve each other and stay the fuck away from me and my life. You're fired. You're finished. I don't care if you write a book more popular than the Bible. I want you out of my life because it's perfectly fine without you. I'm perfectly happy without you!" he raged, screaming at the top of his lungs with a burning energy he hadn't felt in years, breathing viciously through his nostrils.

To his shock, her face was almost tender as she looked back at him with sympathy in her eyes. "Then why are you the one crying, Draco?"

And with a crack, she Disapparated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **So, what do you guys think of Mercius? He gets into the story a bit more, and he's so kick-arse that I may just have to write myself into a story, have Draco impregnate me, JUST so I can have a child like Mercius. Well, maybe not JUST for that. Hehe. Kidding, because that's just weird. Not. Well, anyway, there's more Draco-Ginny action here. It's not the end. Or is it? Hmm...nah, that would be a sucky end. And I like this story too much. ERGH! I'm torn. I love this story so much that I want to upload it all right now, but then again, I want more reviews because I'm vain and selfish. What to do?

**Disclaimer:** Not mine if it belongs to J.K.Rowling. Everything else is. Don't take, dudes.

* * *

**Boxers**

**Part Five

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**

Blaise and Colin were asleep on the couch when Draco Apparated back to the apartment. Mercius was awake, however. The moment Draco stepped into the common room, Mercius attached to his leg. "Where were you, father?" Draco cringed. "You don't have to call me father," he said, no idea why the words were coming out of his mouth. But he did know what had prompted them. A part of his life was over; Weasley had seen to that. He could feel himself changing, bending, taking in a deep breath and straightening so he could see everything he'd been blind to before.

Like the fact that he was turning into his father.

Mercius gave him a strange look. "What should I call you, then?" Draco floundered a bit. "Well, some…most…other kids…what…dad? Maybe? Daddy, I- I don't know, why are you asking me?" he spewed, uncomfortable as hell with this child he didn't honestly know.

Mercius frowned. "Because Helga isn't here," he said plainly, as if this was the most obvious reason in the world. "Is Ginny going to be my mummy?" he asked suddenly. Draco's chest thudded. "Why would you say something like that?" he breathed, his face pale.

Mercius stared up at him thoughtfully, his golden hair long and softly curled around his ears. Helga said it 'make him look like girl', but Draco thought it suited him. "Mummies are supposed to love you no matter what, aren't they? Ginny loves me," he said with a finality that made Draco feel something odd and hot in his ribs, like a fire surging up. "You've only known her for an hour. You can't just decide you love someone in an hour."

Even as he spoke, he felt alarms going off.

He'd just lied to his son.

Because he knew for a fact that you could discover many interesting things you never knew, all in one hour.

………………………………..

Ginny answered her door on the fifth knock. She had her boxers on and an old t-shirt Draco had never missed when he got rich. He missed it now. "Can I talk to you?" he asked, waiting at her doorway. She stepped back and let him into the room. Avoiding the bed like the plague, Draco leaned against a window and looked at the floor.

"What did you say to my son?" he finally asked, meeting her eyes. She shrugged. "I just talked to him. No ridiculous baby talk, he's too smart for that." The swell of pride that came from that remark was absolutely unwarranted and Draco wasn't sure where it had come from. "But all I had to do was talk to him. He's amazingly brilliant. For a Malfoy," she added with a half-smirk that showed no amusement.

Draco nodded. "He says he thinks you love him. Bet you love all kids. You seem like the kind of person who-"

"No," she cut in, almost harshly before retreating a step, eyes back to the ground. "I'm horrible with kids. But I l-like Mercius. I guess…maybe I do love him; it's rather hard not to. He seems perfect, considering his father." Draco looked away as she pinned him with a gaze. "Why are you here?" she asked.

Draco shrugged. "I really don't know. I guess…maybe because I had some things I had to say." Ginny gestured for him to sit somewhere, but he declined, feeling awkward enough as it was. He wasn't going to relinquish his height over her, even if it was only seven inches.

Not that he was counting.

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning, or something like that. Er…outside there, in the living room just now, my son said that you loved him. And I felt something that I only just this moment realized had to be envy. Because he was so sure. So bloody buggering sure. And then I thought about…er…love and I went and bought a copy of that book of yours. That one character…lot like you, actually, talked about her feelings a lot…she's a woman, she did rather a lot of talking anyway. Not that I meant…well. Anyway, so I thought about mine. Feelings, I mean," he stumbled rather thickly over his words.

She nodded for him to continue, spell-bound as he spoke, so different from the man she'd known. "I realized that I had a small, tiny, miniscule, little speck of respect…eh, for you. I think you're…different. I mean…back when I lived here…I looked forward to meeting with you to work and eh…well. It's nothing, really, I guess, if you're used to poets like Potter sweeping you off your feet with proclamations of love and all that tripe. But then I thought about how I felt for other people. And I realized; I don't feel about other people. I'm not an emotional person, Weasley, but I think that what I…feel…when I'm around you…well, it's not like anything else. You're the only person I've ever really felt anything for. But you're a Weasley and I don't know how to get around that. Plus I'm married, I have a kid, I can't guarantee anything," he breathed, wondering if he'd made any sense or if he'd even been speaking English.

Ginny moved closer to him. "I didn't ask for a bloody proposal, Malfoy. Hell, I never expected you to even come this far. I _am_ a Weasley. And you _are_ a Malfoy. I know what I feel, but I can't expect anything of the like from you. I just needed to tell you. You had to know." She stopped, three feet from him, staring out the window, tension written on her face.

"What if I did know?" he asked slowly. She shook her head. "If you'd known you never would have left. If you'd cared you never would have gone into that business. If you'd… loved…you'd have never married that girl that you can't help but hate." She shook her head again. "No, you didn't know. But do you understand, now? Do you get it? You're not happy, are you? So what happens now? What are you going to do? Tell me." Draco was astonished to hear her voice shake for a moment as she faltered, her glance shifting to him for a split second before looking away.

Draco was stunned. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak. His heart was racing faster than his Firebolt, and his head was ringing with crash after crash of what felt like a raging ocean inside his skull. Something was very not good with his body. It was doing all sorts of strange things he'd never felt and he didn't like the ideas it was putting into his head.

"I don't know," he heard himself say. Weasley nodded and he saw her withdraw without moving a step. He'd made a mistake; said the wrong thing. She was gone now, resigned. Whatever cord tying them together had snapped and now he'd lost his hold on her. On happiness, as she'd been saying. The warmth left his body, sweeping from him as a chill settled over him.

As he left the room, he suddenly felt a great deal of respect for Potter. Because now he knew what he'd been talking about. And he'd been right; it was too late.

…………………………………….

Ginny sighed, closing the door behind him. She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling of a heavy weight balancing there. She sighed again, with a little more difficulty.

"Stop being such a twit," she growled as she caught a glance of herself in the mirror. "You knew not to feel anything, but you did it anyway. It's your own fault that you're hurting. You shouldn't have thought…you shouldn't have wished for what you did. You knew what to expect of him, and he certainly didn't disappoint you. He didn't do anything unexpected."

A little voice in her head popped up in her head. _But he did. He came in here, didn't he?_

Ginny scoffed, shaking her head at herself. "He came in here to explain a few things…find out about…oh I don't know," she grimaced, slumping back onto her bed with a frustrated groan. Her head hung upside-down over the side of her bed, images, dreams, thoughts, and blood all rushing to a frantic conclusion.

"He won't do anything," she told herself in a stern voice. "You've only made things worse. Because now you've planted that seed…that thought of happiness in his head and you won't be there to explain it to him and he'll just end up more miserable than when he was stupid and had no idea he was miserable and why the bloody hell am I talking to myself?"

She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. She supposed it was good that she didn't receive an answer, considering it was just her in the room and her sanity had already come into question when she fell for Malfoy in the first place. But as she fell asleep, disappointment settled in.

Because she'd really wanted some answers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Yeah, so updating rather than waiting for reviews won out. Here you go. Just a little taste of Draco-Ginny before I rip it all away. So, this is a few months more than a year later. I wanted to say something about Mercius. Some of you might think he's too mature for his age in these next few chapters. I figure he's grown up being vigorously instructed by a regimental-like German Nazi nanny. No love, no care, nothing but learning, learning, learning, and growing cynical and wise all the while for six straight years. Plus he's a wizard and a Malfoy, so we can pretend he's a fast learner. He's witty, but sad. However, Draco and he get along and have a bit more time together, though Draco does...neglect...him for a little while in this chapter. Aww. Well, I'm off. Thanks for all the reviews.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine if it belongs to J.K.Rowling.

* * *

**Boxers**

**Part Six

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**

In the end, Ginny blamed everything on Colin and Blaise. They were always interfering in her love life. But the last time they meddled, she couldn't really get mad with them.

It was mid-March, just a couple of months and a year after Ginny had last seen Draco 'that night' in Blaise's apartment. Blaise owled her one morning to 'talk'. Which amounted in her eating all his omelette and not paying attention to much of what he had to say. Until he told her to go talk to Malfoy. Something about his business.

Ginny grumbled to herself as she made her way out of the restaurant they'd been in to Disapparate. Trust Malfoy to do something to kill the business and cost her the only real money she made. She didn't know why the git didn't just give the set to her to deal with. Or maybe this was what he wanted to talk to her about.

Once she Apparated to Draco's estate outside London, she immediately ran through a list of what he could be calling on her for. By the time she'd been shown into Draco's living room, she was prepared for everything from loosing her job to Mercius to being told she was pregnant with Blaise's baby.

Her imagination ran like an Olympic hurdler towards the finish line. She kept her calm as Draco strode into the room, seemingly not realizing she was there. He seemed to be rather intently looking for something.

"Damn. Now where…" he trailed off, having espied Ginny from where he'd been looking under the table. He straightened immediately. "Weasley. I didn't know you were here. Please sit down." This was rather stupid, as Ginny was already sitting. "Er, right, well, straight to business then," he said, taking a seat himself. Ginny sighed. So this was about business.

Without warning a pile of papers fell into her lap. She glanced down at them, shifting through the words printed boldly and the seals at the bottom. She looked up at Draco after a moment, shock written all over her face.

"You're…" she breathed, having trouble with the words.

"A bachelor. Once more," Draco said with a grin, watching her face. "It would seem that the Malfoy head...namely me... was preoccupied with being a Malfoy and got distracted…from life. It would also appear that there were a few things I had to do to secure 'happiness'. Would you know I was perfectly content being violently miserable until this raggedy little carrot from my school days started going on and on about happiness? Cow," he muttered, grinning.

"How?" was all Ginny could ask. Draco smirked. "It would appear I wasn't the only one unfaithful. My dear Clarice had a decision to make; an unhappy life as an adulterous wife and failed mother, or to be paid to walk away from such tiring obligations. Guess what she chose?"

Ginny gaped. "I-wha-you," she cleared her throat and shook her head. Draco could almost see her spine straighten. "As long as you're content, all I can say is congratulations. But what does this mean…for me?" she added hesitantly.

Draco shrugged. "Depends," he answered cryptically.

Ginny frowned a bit. "On what?" she asked, hitching up her knees, and it was then that Draco noticed something exceptionally odd. Ignoring her question, his eyes on her legs, he felt his jaw drop. "What are you wearing?" he said, staring at her fixatedly.

She furrowed her brow, glancing down. "They're called jeans, Malfoy. Muggles wear them, so do most wizards. From what I hear they're very popular among young people. Some sort of modern alternative to running around starkers," she answered smartly.

Draco shook his head a bit, but his eyes wouldn't leave her legs. They were indeed jeans, but now that he thought about it, he'd never really seen her in anything other than boxers. Not since they'd been in Gryffindor.

And he couldn't stop it. He didn't know where it came from, because he'd not once entertained the idea until now. But seeing her like this. So casual and yet so vulnerable outside her own realm. He couldn't help it.

And before Ginny could stop it, she'd been covered by six foot of Draco. His hands were everywhere and yet nowhere long enough to make her stop and think 'what are we doing?'. And his lips. His lips were on her neck, of all places, and he was making the most incomprehensible sounds against that steady, beating column of flesh and muscle. And her arms were around his back, urging him on. She didn't know why she was doing it. But this was too much. Too much like her happiness. Too much like what she'd been waiting for. Too much like what she'd been hoping for. Too much like what could lead to a nice, decent shag like she hadn't had in ages.

And then Draco felt something. A little spike in his chest. A little beat that sent him reeling with the meaning of it. He pulled away from her and the searing jolt increased, shooting up his body.

"Christ, what was that?" he exclaimed, his voice rougher than he would have liked. Ginny looked up at him; he was still half in her lap. "What?" she asked, her voice as steady as it could be.

And, doing something he'd never thought he'd see outside one of Narcissa the Cow's romance novels, he took her hand and laid the palm over his heart. She stared at their hands, and where they were, for just a moment. And slowly, sweetly, a brilliant smile slid between her lips, pulling her whole face up as her eyes rose to meet his.

"I think that's happiness, Draco," she said slowly. "Fuck," Draco growled. "It hurts."

Ginny let out a laugh, boisterous and uplifting. "That's nothing, Draco. Wait until you feel-" she stopped abruptly, realizing where her hand was and what they'd been doing. The blood drained from her face as she took in a breath. "Wait until you feel love," she breathed, looking up into his eyes.

He couldn't look away. Her hand was emitting its own faint heat and heartbeat and it was pulsing through his body, mingling with his own. "Does it hurt like this?" he asked. Ginny smiled, but couldn't laugh. The air was thick with something. "Ten times worse," she answered truthfully, knowing. "But it's worth it," she whispered, with just a hint of a promise.

And Draco clung onto that promise. Because in just those few seconds he had tasted happiness. And in a moment, a universe opened up to him. Totally new opportunities. Chances. For happiness. He knew it now, and he wasn't ever going to let it go.

And for the first time in his life, Draco felt something. Strongly. He looked down at the woman beneath him with a look his face was unaccustomed to making. She must have seen it too, because her face softened into one of complete surprise; whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

"Ginny," he said, thrilling at the sound of her name in the silence "I think…" he paused, cupping her cheek in his palm and running his fingers down her jaw line. "I think I love you," he said, and was rewarded with the burst of warmth in his chest that told him yes, he had _finally_ done something right.

Ginny's breathing tightened in her throat at how unexpected the words were.

"But you're a Malfoy. You hate me. You have since school." Even to her it sounded feeble. He shook his head, grinning. "You're not getting out of this that easily. I just professed romantic attachment of the most disgustingly serious kind, now what have you got?" he asked, in a rather frail 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' attempt.

Ginny opened her mouth. To protest, to show him, to tell him just exactly why he couldn't be serious through the highly organized means of colour-coded flash cards. But nothing came out. Well, almost nothing. No remarkable, or even distinguishable sound came from her lips, but one small breath, barely audible, as if caught in her throat on its journey to Draco's ears.

In answer, Draco felt his body leaning closer, something pulling him to her in that same place that had pained him so with happiness. It was exquisite pain that, for all it was costing him, was the most he felt he could ever have any hope of gaining in life.

Ginny let loose a breath that had been pooling in her lungs for what seemed to be an eternity. It blew between her lips and fanned out across his, disappearing in his own. Draco swallowed. They were connected now, and whatever was coming, there was no stopping it now.

Ginny leaned forward until her mouth was close enough to his for him to feel her body's own warmth. She exhaled, breath shaky, and could not have been more grateful that it was Draco who initiated the kiss, or else they might have remained in limbo for a very long time.

Draco wondered what it had been that he felt with Clarice, his wife, as it was most definitely not what he felt now, gently pressing Ginny into the plush chair back, her jean-clad knees tucked up near his ears, his hands somewhere near them, running up and down her legs in an awkward attempt to settle himself in a chair meant for only one.

Determined as he was, he might very well have succeeded, too, were it not for the small voice coming from behind one of the dark, heavy curtains by the window, which caused Draco to fall unceremoniously from Ginny's seat, his head landing even more awkwardly between her legs.

"Father, you're not very good at this are you? The point of the game is to find the other person." A blonde head popped out from behind the curtain. "You've been seeking me for over thirty minutes now." Mercius glanced over at Ginny, arms ready to push herself from the chair and the ridiculous position she found herself in. "Oh, hullo Miss Ginny; was it you who was distracting father? He is not very good at games, you see."

Ginny glanced down at Draco, glancing up at her from between her knees, a mischievous grin on his face, his hands resting lightly on her thighs. "I see," and Ginny…well, damn it all if the girl wasn't actually blushing red to the roots of her hair. "Morning Mercius," she said shakily, an odd grin on her face. "Sorry to…keep your father…we were…that is, I was just…" she swallowed as Draco ran his thumb lightly over a hole in her jeans.

"Are you going to be my new mummy?" Mercius asked, watching with clever grey eyes as Ginny kneed Draco in the jaw, still fighting the flush creeping under the collar of the tee she was wearing.

Ginny stopped trying to dismember Draco and Draco stopped trying to feel Ginny up to see how red she could get. They both stared at Mercius, whose look was far too innocent for a Malfoy. Deceptively innocent.

Ginny's gaze wandered down to Draco's. They met and all of a sudden Ginny's chest gave a startling lurch that jolted her to her feet, knocking Draco onto his arse. "I-I have to go," she stammered, stumbling over her feet as she rushed toward the door.

Draco leaned back on his elbows with a frustrated sigh. Glancing over to the window curtains, he glared lightly. "This is your fault, you know," he told Mercius, who was leaning in a pose too mature for his young body, against the wall, examining his nails. "How is it my fault? You were the one with your head between her legs," Mercius responded, making Draco frown. "Where the hell do you get these ideas of yours?" he asked his young son. Mercius grinned a feral grin. "Clarice," he answered knowledgably. "Ah," Draco responded understandingly "the supreme Queen of all things incorrect and ridiculous."

Mercius smirked. "Looks like you're taking on that title," he commented with the regal air of a true Malfoy. Draco shifted on his elbows. _QUEEN? Him? _"What's that supposed to mean? Stop talking like bloody Dumbledore, kid," he commanded. Mercius only smirked. "Well, you incorrect and ridiculous queen, shouldn't you be running after her, then? How am I supposed to have her as my new mummy if you keep scaring her off?"

Draco sat and stared for a good few minutes before jumping to his feet and racing out of the room. He backtracked in a few seconds later.

"I am not a queen," he said, pointing at Mercius seriously before prancing off like a poncy git after Ginny.

Mercius stood for another minute until the household cat prowled in. "Stupid prats, aren't they?" he asked. The cat meowed intelligently before hacking up its breakfast all over Mercius' shoes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I hate parents. Okay, so here's chapter seven. Finally. It took a good deal of alcohol and pretending to fall asleep while watching four hours of reality television, but I did it. I finally got my computer. It's midnight and I'm in my bathtub with a flashlight. Yeah, I'm not supposed to be online right now. Not sure why, but don't tell anyone, right? Just like I'm not supposed to drink energy drinks or use profanity. Fuck that shit, I'm off to go drown myself in some Red Bull, who's with me? Kidding. So, here it is. More Draco-Ginny interaction and more of why I absolutely **LOVE AND ADORE** Mercius Malfoy. He's the bloody cutest. Yeah, and for all the weirdo losers out there who don't speak Russian, the reference in this chapter using the word 'Odin' refers to more or less how you pronounce the Russian word for the number 'one'. Not exact, but we can all pretend, right? So, after this I think there's one more chapter. I'm so sorry to see this end. It's my best fic ever. I suck. Read and I sincerely hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine if it belongs to J.K.Rowling, and if it doesn't, then it's probably mine.

* * *

**Boxers**

**Part Seven

* * *

**

"Ginny! Ginny, wait!"

Draco slid about three feet to a stop into the kitchen. Ginny was whirling around in a circle, staggering. "How the bloody hell do you get out of here?" she muttered, opening a door that lead to a broom cupboard. Draco watched her fight with a mop for a second before walking over to her.

Ginny felt his arms wrap around her waist before she even realized he was behind her. The mop she'd been duelling with (and losing to) fell, where it won its next battle with Draco's nose. She bit her lip, leaning her head back wantonly into his neck in hopes he'd forget about his facial realignment in favour of something much better for all parties. Draco closed his eyes, tilting his head so he could kiss her neck. That brought a muffled squawk from Ginny, who then let loose what had to unmistakably be a laugh. Ginny Weasley did NOT giggle.

Draco pulled away. "You're ticklish?" he asked. Ginny frowned, alarms beeping in her head.

"No."

Draco dug his fingers into her side. Ginny crumpled immediately into his arms like a drunken octopus. "Ah-sto-oh god-ah-ha-ha-stop-plea-oh fuck-stop!" she shrieked, flailing her arms. Draco did stop, but only because one of her elbows had inadvertently smacked him in the face.

'Inadvertently.'

"Oh shit, you stupid wanker," she breathed, turning to check his face for broken bones, or perhaps to just make some, she wasn't sure yet. Draco grabbed her wrists and took advantage of how close their faces were.

Ginny's knees wobbled a little, and she felt like taking on that mop again. How pathetic was this; not only had she actually blushed earlier, she was now going weak at the knees from his kiss.

She was turning into a trite, damsel-in-distress fairy tale princess and she wanted to kill herself.

Draco backed her up until the kitchen table was digging into her back. Somehow one of her knees was once again up by her ear, and Draco's hand was wandering up the back of her thigh. Ginny felt her long-neglected libido coming alive rapidly as she grabbed, actually grabbed, Draco by the collar and pulled him closer. A little too enthusiastically, because he lost his balance and fell on top of her, pushing her onto her back on the kitchen table.

With Draco practically lying on top of her, and a wooden spoon jabbed in her spine, Ginny's mind cleared a little. Wedging a hand in between their faces, she pushed him gently away. "Wait, just…wait," she breathed, trying to catch her breath. Draco pulled back, counting backwards in Russian in a valiant attempt to calm himself. He failed valiantly. Ginny sighed, trying to push him off her, but all she succeeded in doing was pressing herself against him and making his eyes roll back in his head.

"Draco, I-"

"ODIN!"

Ginny arched an eyebrow.

"Don't ask," Draco breathed.

"Don't tell," Ginny said, nodding her head slowly.

"You were saying?" he said quickly.

"Right…" Ginny said, trailing off a bit as her eyes fell to his lips.

"Point?" Draco prompted, unnerved by the hungry look in her eyes.

"Right, right…" her fingers were absently toying with the hem of his shirt, and Draco was doing his best not to shove her in the kitchen sink and ravage her. Why was that making him randy?

"Ginny, please!" He was absolutely ashamed at the psychotic desperation in his voice.

Ginny shook her head and cleared her throat nervously. "Y-yes, yes, sorry," she stuttered, heat rising to her face. "I just…focus, focus….er…right, well, look…I want…I don't want you to think…it's not that I don't…because I do…I'd love to be able to promise…tell you…it's not that I don't want…I can't…"

Draco effectively silenced her with his lips. She responded too eagerly for him to begin to feel any insecurity. He pulled away, panting. "Ginny, I'm not asking you to marry me," he said, pinpointing the source of her agitation. "Not yet. I just want to shag you senseless into the kitchen table right now with the reassurance that I very much like and probably love you."

Ginny breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god," she breathed, tugging Draco to her enthusiastically. Draco held back, a question in his eyes. "We're going about this a bit backwards, aren't we?" he asked.

"Point?" Ginny asked, tugging at his belt.

"None," Draco hissed.

"Good," she smiled happily.

Somewhere in London, a small boy totally obscured by soot and carrying a similarly disguised hacking and wheezing cat fell ungracefully from Blaise's fireplace. Dusting himself off with as much dignity as possible, Mercius stood, setting the animal down. "That is the last time we are travelling by Floo Powder," he informed the cat, who turned around to the couch where Colin and Blaise were hastily pulling on pieces of outer clothing, and vomited nastily all over Blaise's expensive Italian boots.

Colin restrained Blaise long enough for the cat to cower into the bathroom.

Eye twitching, Blaise turned to Mercius, who was systematically not looking at the two men, a smirk on his face. "Well, I hope this means your ferret of a father and my carrot of a friend have decided to grow brain cells and get together, otherwise I'm flushing that cat down the loo and sending you of to boarding school in Switzerland…for life," he warned.

Mercius grinned wickedly. "No threats or you're not invited to the wedding."

Colin let out a burst of laughter. "Ha! Ginny's the most stubbornly single bachelor-type there ever was. If she ever gets married I'll eat a flobberworm..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **Well, here it is, the very last chapter. I think. I'm all out of comedy. So, I love this chapter and I hope you all like it. I'm going to miss little Mercius. He rocks. So, here it is, and I hope you all enjoy the ending as much as you seeemd to have liked the rest of the story. Sincerely yours, PyroSymptomsUnleashed.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine unless it sucks. Then it's mine. All else belongs to J.K.Rowling.

* * *

**Boxers**

**Part Eight: The End

* * *

**

Previously…

_Colin let out a burst of laughter. "Ha! Ginny's the most stubbornly single bachelor-type there ever was. If she ever gets married I'll eat a flobberworm..."_

………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I pronounce you wizard and witch. You may- wait for it – _now_ you may kiss the witch."

Draco leaned in to kiss his wife before she could finish the rude phrase stealing between her lips. Ginny grinned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him hard.

Eyebrows arching in surprise and delight, Draco pulled her closer. He couldn't believe it; he'd married her. She'd actually let him marry her. She was insane. Though it had taken him twenty-three months to get her to agree to marriage, he'd done it. They were married. The thought put a swell of warmth through his body. Though that could have been because of the tongue down his throat.

Though he didn't know where he was in the wedding congregation, Draco could feel Ronald Weasley's face burning a hot red watching his sister suck face with Draco Malfoy.

Not that it mattered because now she was Ginny Malfoy.

Pulling away before things got out of hand (in front of a priest no less), Draco grinned, taking his wife by the hand and leading her down from the alter. He grinned, spotting Beacon-Face Weasley smouldering away next to Hermione Granger. Harry Potter had not been invited. Draco had thought it would please his fiancée to invite her friends, even if he wanted to sic Mercius on them, and sent The-Boy-Who-Ruined-Everything a wedding invite, which never reached him, due to the combined efforts of Mercius and Ginny, who conspired to lose it. Conveniently. Down the cat's throat. Draco knew this because the cat vomited it up in his shoes one morning.

Ginny took her bouquet of flowers and hurled them as viciously as possible at Narcissa the Cow, who had somehow been invited. The roses smacked her in the face with satisfying accuracy. Draco turned and pressed a kiss to his wife's temple. "You're incredible," he whispered, before turning back to the wedding scene.

Molly Weasley was weeping buckets. Arthur Weasley was dressed in garishly orange overalls, clapping enthusiastically. With little effort, Fred and George Weasley had gotten Pansy Parkinson drunk and on the dance floor. Blaise had Mercius on his shoulders, chasing after Colin. And for some reason Mercius had a flobberworm in his hand. Who knew why he was shouting 'you promised!' at Colin.

Weirdo.

"Oh, I hate you," Draco said suddenly, leading Ginny over to a huge cake. "Oh really? That's nice dear. Cake?" she asked, slicing some. "Yes, please," he said, stooping down so his vertically-challenged new wife could smash cake into his face properly. "Thank you," he commented, taking her hand and 'cleaning' her fingers. With his mouth.

When Ginny finally pulled her hand away, her face was a good deal more flushed than it had been before. "Enough of that, or I'll drag you off to the nearest broom closet, to hell with our honeymoon!" she breathed.

Draco smirked. "Where did you think we were having our honeymoon?" he asked, covering her mouth with his. Ginny grinned, pulling away as the sound of Colin puking flobberworm innards all over Narcissa the Cow.

"I know a great little rose garden out back," Ginny said suggestively, attempting to get away from the party. Draco's face broke into a grin. "Lead the way," he said, slipping his hand down Ginny's back.

…………………………………

Mercius was not a happy camper.

Standing in front of him had congregated a large body of women of varying ages and similarly unstable bladders, blinking imperiously around in hopes that a loo would appear if they waited long enough.

One rather fidgety old crone hobbled over to Mercius.

"Well, hello there, little ring bearer, I was wondering-"

"My name, madam, is Mercius Draconus Malfoy," he said, tone smacking of arrogance and intolerance. He had to be a Malfoy. The old bat blinked in surprise, hopping back a bit, but her squirming innards pressed her on.

"If you tell Auntie where the bathroom is, I'll give you a nice candy," she crowed, pulling something in a shiny wrapper from her handbag and waving it in a taunting manner in front of Mercius' face. It smelled vaguely of his cat's backside.

Mercius stared at the sow with an 'are you shitting me?' look before a movement outside the window across the hall from him caught his eye. A movement from the supposedly deserted rose garden. A movement like a large white wedding gown being thrown a good distance in an agitated hurry.

An evil smirk crossed Mercius' face.

He took the candy.

And directed the women out into the rose garden, where he suspected they would find more than just the loo.

………………………………….

Blaise and Colin were rocking back and forth, swaying to the music, trying not to step on Pansy Parkinson, who had suddenly passed out mid-conga. "Do you think they'll make it together?" Blaise asked, looking for the bride and groom amongst the other dancers. "Well, it doesn't seem likely, does it?" Colin said. Blaise trod on his feet. "Then again, I said Ginny would never get married, so what's my opinion worth?"

"A flobberworm," Blaise answered.

Colin frowned, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. "I'm never going to get that taste out of my mouth," he groaned. Blaise grinned, then stared off over Colin's shoulder in speculation.

"We made it, didn't we, Colin?" he asked, resting his head against the shorter man's.

Colin smiled softly. "That we did," he answered, turning his face to Blaise's.

A small, deliberate cough stopped them mid-snog.

They glanced down to where Mercius was grinning up at them, his face the most adorable mask of complete evil mischievousness. "Oh, what _have_ you done now?" Colin asked as Blaise looked for fires, Ministry officials, or large predatory animals.

Mercius grinned, offering out his hand.

"Nothing. Candy?"

Blaise sniffed cautiously at the shiny fushia wrapper in the small boy's hand.

"Smells like cat poo," he said distractedly, marking out where the emergency exits were.

A cacophony of shrill outbursts started and built, growing louder and louder until the doors to the rose garden burst open. In ran a semi-naked red-head, laughing gleefully as she was followed by her equally-nearly-nude husband, who was looking more than a little frazzled as he was chased by a crowd of vicious cronies ready to piss themselves.

Blaise stifled a laugh as the entire wedding party stilled and gaped openly in shock at Ginny's bouncing chest (thankfully the girl still had her bra on), her damned boxers that said 'Shag Me', Draco's half-bare bum where some cow had pulled at his pants, to _his_ boxers, which read 'Fuck Yes'.

An astonished congregation watched as Draco reached Ginny, grabbing her arm and whirling her around, still laughing, and barely managed to Disapparate before being torn to pieces by the claws of the harpies on their backs.

Colin turned to Mercius. "Why do I have the feeling you had something to do with that?" he asked as the crowd settled into a comfortable murmur.

Blaise interrupted. "Scratch that. Why do I have the feeling you're not going to be a normal child?"

Mercius cracked an eerie grin that made Colin hide behind his taller Slytherin counterpart. "I guess that means I'm not invited to your wedding?" the boy asked too innocently. "Like hell you're not!" Colin piped up over Blaise's shoulder.

Blaise grinned, ruffling the boy's hair, and pissing him off quite badly.

"But we'll help you make your father and Ginny's lives a living hell," Blaise promised.

Mercius shook his head, letting his gaze drift to where Draco and Ginny had disappeared.

"My _parents_," he corrected, showing off his first real smile. "You can help me make my parents' lives a living hell."

"Agreed."

……………………………………………..


End file.
